


Heroism Sucks

by The_Master_Insaniac



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Blood Drinking, vampire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-12-16 10:29:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21034781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Master_Insaniac/pseuds/The_Master_Insaniac
Summary: Waking up thirsty isn't that unusual. Waking up in another universe with a thirst for blood? Just a bit.





	1. Phleobotomy (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which blood is drawn.

**?**

**?**

I awoke in darkness.

This was disconcerting for a number of reasons, not least which was because I was hung over as hell, at least according to the little demon that was playing bongo drums inside my skull and the bitchin’ case of cotton mouth. That, at least, made sense. I’d started the previous night with a full liter thermos of water and a full fifth of cinnamon whiskey.

By the end of the night, one of those things had been empty and the other hadn’t been touched.

I’ll let you guess which.

Side note: always make sure your drink water and alcohol in equal measure, lest you wake up with a fiendish hangover. The more you know.

Anyway, the other thing throwing me off about being in this darkness was that I shouldn’t have been in it at all. My dorm room is a brick abomination with a big window; sunlight would be ramming an icepick right into my eyeballs if I’d slept through the entire night.

So, the question was this: where was I, and why was it still dark?

Trying to sit up provided me some form of answer, right along with a fresh lance of pain that started at my forehead and radiated out to the rest of my skull, making the already painful tattoo that much worse.

Okay, so, upper limits very literally defined. Good stuff.

Laying my head back against something soft, I decided to let my hands do their job and feel about the environment for me. Where they were just now, I could feel some kind of smooth material underneath my fingertips, like, really smooth. Silk, maybe? I dunno. Textile expert I’m not.

Working out from there, I carefully felt out the dimensions of wherever it was I’d decided to sleep off the booze. What that told me was that I was in some sort of padded box – rectangular in shape – that was just big enough to fit me while also leaving me a bit of breathing room. It was almost like a…

No, that would’ve been ridiculous.

The lid of the box gave easily enough when I applied pressure and thank God for that. The only way the situation wasn’t gonna end with me having an out and out panic attack was if I had some means of egress.

I sat up from the box and immediately wished I hadn’t.

Sight, sound, smell, all of it served to cause me pain. The lamp hanging off the wall that illuminated… wherever I was, shone with a light that might as well have been the sun. Car horns were like train whistles right next to my ears, and the ungodly smell of…just about everything filled my nose in a pungent cocktail of refuse that I didn’t even want to consider the specifics of.

I was back in the box with the lid pulled down like lightning. I didn’t mind the sudden spike of pain that came from it, mostly because it was nothing compared to the sensory overload that awaited me on the outside. The hangover was kicking my ass something bad.

For half a second, I seriously considered staying in the box until such time as my hangover had gone away. I discarded it because A) the surest cure for a hangover was water and fatty foods and B) because staying in the box meant staying in a place I was unfamiliar with and, not gonna lie, I wasn’t super jazzed at the prospect.

In the end, I decided I’d go about it like someone with a modicum of sense: if everything hitting me all at once was painful, I’d do it gradually and acclimatize more slowly.

I cracked the lid of the box and let the lights, smells, and sounds slither in. It was all so intense as to leave me nauseous for a second, but it passed quickly enough, leaving only the dull ache in my head. I raised it a bit more, then did the same thing. On and on like that I worked until, at last, the lid was raised completely, and I was able to sit up with only a baseline level of pain.

Being able to look around properly revealed a few things to me. The first thing was that I was in some kind of alleyway. The second was that I was laying on top of a pile of garbage. The third and, perhaps, most disconcerting thing was what my ‘box’ actually was.

It was a casket. Not one of those hokey elongated hexagonal ones you see on pretty much any Halloween decoration ever, but an honest to goodness casket, like you’d put body in before you put it in the ground. I had to admit it was pretty nice, polished black with silvery – though probably not actually silver – pal-bearer handles.

My appreciation for its aesthetic pleasantness died a swift and violent death, however, when it fully sank in that SOMEONE HAD PUT ME AN ACTUAL GODDAMN CASKET AND THROWN ME IN AN ALLEY!

Deep breaths.

In. Out.

In. Out.

In. Out.

It worked a treat for calming me down, though I didn’t feel the usual strain and release of big lungfuls of air, for some odd reason. It made the dry mouth worse too, which just about figured.

Okay, I thought to myself once I was well and truly sure that I wasn’t gonna have to deal with a panic attack AND a hangover, plan. Form a plan, Jesse.

What do you need?

Location information.

How do you get it?

Get out of the fuckin’ box and look, dumbass.

Step by step, one after the other. That’s how I was gonna win.

With no small amount of trepidation. I raised the lower lid that ordinarily would cover the lower body, and I pitched myself out of the casket. Things got a little hairy for a second as I tried to gain solid footing on the garbage pile, but I made it down well enough.

Having solid ground under my feet did wonders for my state of mind. Maybe it was something to do with solid ground somehow being symbolic of permanence and solidity in an uncertain world, but I dunno. I ain’t no psychologist.

Okay, time for an appraisal. What do I have; what are my assets?

A cursory pat down of my body revealed that I had the clothes I’d been wearing when I passed out: a black polo shirt tucked into blue jeans held up by a black leather belt, socks and shoes, and my boulder opal necklace. I was wearing my duster as well, which I _hadn’t_ been wearing when I passed out, but I didn’t have time to consider (panic about) the implications of that, so I moved on.

Checking my pockets, I was relieved to find that I still had my wallet and that it still had everything in it. I also had my pocketknife tucked into a tool pocket and my black bandana was in my right back pocket. The only thing I seemed to be missing was my phone.

If I’d been mugged, someone had done a terrible job.

Okay, so, I wasn’t as bad off as I thought. I had cash on me, more than enough to get some food and drink in me, which was my primary objective after getting out of the alley and finding out where I was. Critical thinking and hangovers do not a good mix make.

So, I started walking, not really paying attention to which direction. The pile of trash where my casket – and good Lord that’s not something I wanted think about this early in life – was up against a wall, so there would be no getting out that way. If I kept walking, eventually I’d find a way out.

I’d come to crossroads of different alleys – a path on either side and one that went straight ahead – when a shrill, panicked scream pierced the night.

Now, if you’re like me, you’ll watch a horror movie and immediately start writing the Darwin Award citation for the stupid fucker that goes running to the source when they hear screaming in the big spooky house. In that context, apathy is fine. You know that no one is really dead, that the killer, victim, and moron are all actors, and that they probably fucked off to have pancakes or something whenever the camera stopped rolling on that scene.

In real life, though, humans are social creatures. Human civilization as we know it exists simply because, way back when we weren’t even proper homo-sapiens yet, we decided that coming together and helping each other was the surefire way to survive in a world full of bigger, stronger animals that wanted nothing more than for us to be an entrée. And we were right. We were right for so long that sociability and helping others are hard coded into our genes: social interaction is key to healthy development in kids and to maintaining good mental health in adults; helping people out is a quick and easy way to get a hit of that sweet, sweet dopamine, the body’s natural happy juice.

All of this is just a round about way of saying that my decision to follow the right-hand path toward the source of the scream wasn’t _just_ my own stupidity rearing its ugly head, it was also millions of years of genetics messing with my brain.

Yep. Genetics. I’m not an idiot, it’s just genetics. Honest.

As I walked, I became aware of a few things. One was a thick, coppery smell that made my mouth water – figuratively, not literally; I wasn’t that lucky – for some reason. The other was the sound of voices; one, probably the screamer, was low, pained, and pleading, while the other was dead and serene in a way that made my skin crawl.

I came upon a scene that would’ve fit right in one of those horror movies. Illuminated by the light coming in from the empty street beyond, there was a bald guy in gray coveralls holding a bloody knife, and there was a woman in a white shirt and gray jacket and skirt who clutched at her right arm while red seeped out from between her fingers.

Well, I could guess where the smell was coming from, anyway.

Two odd rhythmic noises echoed in my ears, one faster than the other. Along with them, the two people in the alley were pulsing in time, pale lines tracing their skin with every repetition. It was almost like I was hearing and seeing their circulatory system through their skin, but that would’ve been ridiculous.

In any case, I was at an impasse. Neither of them had seen me yet; I could turn around and walk away from this or I could take the next step and involve myself.

Danger or safety.

Cowardice or courage.

It was no choice at all.

Stupid genetics.

“HEY!” I yelled as loud as I could, drawing both their attention to me. The lines on baldy moved just a bit faster, while the woman’s slowed down somewhat. “Step away from the lady, dickbag!” I said, hoping to high heaven that I sounded more confident than I felt.

Let me tell ya, for a chill that ignores every physical law and goes straight to your bones? There’s nothing quite like the steely glare of a man who’s out for blood.

"Oh,” said the man, his voice calm and level and his eyes cold and dead and lines slowing down again. “For a moment, I’d thought you were a bat. But I can see now that you’re just another _piggy_.”

What he said made no goddamn sense, but at the same time set a few bells to ringing in the back of my head which I had to ignore because crazy murder hobo.

“I’m gonna have to disagree with ya there, fella. Mom always said I was pretty BULLheaded, so…” I said.

“You hide your fear behind humor, little piggy. But don’t worry, I can liberate you from that fear. All you need to do…is…stand…STILL!”

The man rushed, holding his blade aloft to stab me. He had long legs and closed the distance _fast_. Fight or flight is beautiful thing, though, and I was just able dodge to the side before he stuck me.

“It’s a no from me, dude,” I said as his momentum carried him past me.

“I said be STILL, piggy! I can’t free you from your prison if you won’t stand STILL!” The man said, pulsing faster now.

“If I’m in prison, can I ask ya to throw away the key instead?” I asked.

“They all struggle, piggy. But in the end, I always set them free!” He yelled, whirling around for another stab.

I tried to backstep to avoid it, but I’d made a mistake. In dodging the first attack, I’d inadvertently put by my back up against a wall, a fact which made itself known only as I was trying to get out of the way of the mad-man’s knife.

My back slammed against the wall.

For a brief moment, time lurched to a crawl. Slow as Christmas, I saw the man grin; I saw him increase his speed, sure that he had me.

I saw him stop.

His shocked expression very probably mirrored my own.

Glacially, we both looked down.

His knife hovered all of an inch above my chest, but it wasn’t moving any more, reason being that, without my conscious command, my right hand had lashed out and grabbed the man’s wrist, stopping his blade cold.

The man attempted to yank his wrist – and knife – free of my grasp, but to our mutual shock, my hand didn’t budge in the slightest, nor did my grip let up at all. He tried again, with the same result.

Not knowing what else to do, I squeezed the captive appendage, increasing the pressure little by little until I was stopped by a nasty sounding pop and a scream of pain.

The man with the knife finally had an expression on his face. I’d flipped the script and he was afraid of me. The pale, branching lines pulsing along his body did so faster, and the rhythmic thumping sped up in tandem. There was a spot on his neck where a particularly thick, white line pulsed hypnotically. I couldn’t look away from it.

Now, between two people who enjoy that kind o’ thing, there’s nothing wrong with a little nibble at the throat. It leaves a mark, sure, but that mark is the other person’s way of saying ‘Hey sexy! I think you’re hot to trot and I don’t care who knows it!’ It’s a playful, intimate thing.

What I did to the man when I wrenched the knife out of his hand and pulled him close was not that. I clamped my teeth onto his throat and bit down _hard_, like an alligator with a piece of meat.

The man screamed and thrashed, but I didn’t care.

Something warm, salty, and metallic seeped out from under the points of my eyeteeth and dribbled down my throat. As it did, all the physical discomfort I’d felt since waking up faded away, replaced by the kind of euphoria that you only get when you’ve been doing hot, sweaty work and that first splash of cool water hits your tongue.

I drank deeply, not really registering the fact that only one kind of liquid comes from a punctured throat. As I did, the man’s struggles became weaker and weaker until finally they stopped all together.

Alarm bells started blaring in my head and I came back to my senses all at one. I pulled my teeth from his throat and pushed him away from me desperately.

I touched my lips with shaking hands, and when I pulled them away – noticing as I did that my fingernails could more accurately be called _claws_ – they were covered in red.

I’d bitten the man and had started drinking his blood on instinct.

I was a vampire. Some-crazy-fuckin’-how, I was a goddamn VAMPIRE.

I didn’t collapse, but only because the wall behind me did a pretty good job of holding my weight.

Breaths came to me in short gasps, there was a ringing in my ears, and my mind was a loose jumble of half connected ideas. I couldn’t focus, I couldn’t think, and there was still that damn THUMPING! That damn…!

Wait…thumping?

*thump…thump… thump…thump*

It was faint, and it was slow, but it was definitely there. A thumping sound not unlike what’d I’d heard before I’d…done what I’d done.

I focused on it, allowed the sound to fill up the space inside my head and push out everything else. I aligned my breathing with its rhythm.

*thump…thump*

In…Out.

*thump…thump*

In…Out.

I repeated this routine over and over until normal – normal as could be, given the circumstances – function was restored.

Okay James, you’ve just recovered from a panic attack brought on by the fact that you just treated a human being like a giant Icee, I thought to myself. Appraise the situation; how fucked are you?

Well, I answered myself, I’m a fuck-mothering vampire, or at the very least vampire-ish, which is still more than I could say an hour ago.

Okay, but did you start off your vampire life with a murder? I asked myself.

Good question! I replied.

Looking at the man gave me my answer. In the state I’d been in immediately post-feeding – which was a term it weirded me out to think I might have to get used to – I hadn’t really given much thought to where the sense-restoring thumping had been coming from. It was the man. There weren’t any more lines dancing across his skin, but his heartbeat was the only one in the alley now. The woman he’d been attacking had fled, most likely to avoid ending up as my dessert.

He was in bad shape, breathing shallow and heartbeat faint, but he was alive. To look at him though, that was an honest-to-God miracle. I’d apparently torn at his coveralls in my zeal to get at his neck, leaving the right half of his upper body bare. Most of it was covered in a blood splatter - probably everything I hadn't caught in my mouth - that originated from two neat puncture wounds on his neck, and what that didn’t cover, scars did. 

Those probably weren’t my fault, at least. They were neat, ordered in groups of four vertical lines with one diagonal line going threw them, almost like…almost like…

Almost like tally marks.

An arctic cold feeling settled into the pit of my stomach as the guy’s insane ramblings played themselves over in my head. Ritualistic self-harm wasn’t uncommon, sadly enough, but he’d talked about ‘piggies’ and ‘liberation’. No one I knew of in real life did both of those things, and only_ one_ person I knew of in fiction _did_.

For that person to be laying before me, drained of blood until he passed out was impossible. Why? See above. He was a _fictional character_!

Just as fictional as vampires? Chimed a little voice in the back of my head.

That was different! I was…! Those were…!

Oh shit. I was staring down at Victor Zsasz.

I’d stopped Victor Zsasz from claiming a victim.

Victor Zsasz only had hunting grounds in one place.

That one place had someone in it who was _very_ against anyone but him and his doing the vigilante thing within its walls, which I’d accidentally done.

There was the sound of heavy feet hitting pavement, and a strong, steady heartbeat echoed in the alley and my ears.

Goddamnit, I though as I turned to look at the newcomer.

There was no mistaking who it was. Even if I’d never picked up a comic book or turned on the television in my entire life – that wasn’t the case, believe you me – I’d have known who this guy was.

He was at least six feet tall and wore gray body armor with black boots, gloves, what looked like trunks, and a gold-colored utility belt; in the center of his chest, probably fortified to be the sturdiest section of the whole ensemble, was a black bat symbol; and the whole thing was accented by a black cape and cowl that left his strong jaw as the only glimpse of the man underneath.

Blank white eyes surveyed the scene before him, a scene I _knew_ looked sketchy as all hell, before settling on me.

Batman, the Dark Knight, narrowed his eyes and glared at me.

Fuck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hey! This is my first ever self-insert fanfiction, and my first one ever on AO3! I'd really appreciate any feedback you guys have to offer, and I hope you think its worth continuing. Please let me know of any little goofs I've made along the way or questions you might have!  
In any case, I'll see you in the next chapter!


	2. Phlebotomy (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which bombs are dropped.

**Gotham City**

**Nighttime**

“So, uh…havin’ a good night, so far?”

Batman said nothing.

“Real nice weather we’re havin’…here…in Gotham City…”

Nothing.

“You…you come here often?”

His eyes narrowed just a bit more, but he still didn’t say anything.

“Okay, look!” I said, my patience running out. “If you’re gonna punch me in the face, could ya hurry the fuck up? If you’re not, would ya at least SAY somethin’?! I don’t know if you’ve ever woken up as a vampire in another universe, but its disorientin’ as hell, and your ‘silent as the night’ schtick ain’t helpin’!”

His eyes widened. Whether it was due to the sheer volume of crazy that’d just poured out of my mouth or the fact that he wasn’t used to being verbally bitched out, I had no idea.

But also, WHAT THE FUCK, ME?! One does not simply waltz into Gotham and tear a strip out of BATMAN!

Well, they do if they’re names happen to be Superman and Wonder Woman, but I’m neither, so the point stands!

During the course of my mental disagreement with myself, Batman made his way over to the prone form of Zsasz. He poked and prodded at him like I figured an ME would, paying particular attention to the puncture wounds on his neck.

“He’s not dead,” he said with the trademark bat-growl in his voice.

“I could’ve told you _that_. His heart’s still beatin’.” A thought occurred to me then. “Is he _gonna _die?” I asked.

“If you’d held on much longer or these wounds had been left to bleed, probably. As it is, he’s passed out from blood loss, but the punctures on his neck look like they closed up more or less instantly.” He turned and regarded me coolly. “Were you _trying_ to kill him?” He asked. The warning in his tone wasn’t subtle.

“I wasn’t _tryin’_ to do anything. I saw that skin-head lookin’ SOB,” I said, pointing to Zsasz. “Tryin’ to cut that lady up like deli-meat and I thought, ‘Oh shit! That’s not good at all!’ so I stepped in to try ‘n help.” I threw my hands up in an ‘I dunno’ fashion. “That _somehow_ lead to him bein’ baby’s messy first meal.”

“And you don’t know how you came by this…appetite? Just that you didn’t have it previously?”

“Fella, all I know is that I woke up hungover in a casket yonder way and to the left,” I said, pointing my thumb behind me. “Though,” I mused. “It could’ve just been bitchin’ thirst, now I think about it.” 

“You’re being awfully calm about this.”

“At a certain point, your brain just throws up its hands and says ‘nope! I’m not wastin’ anymore adrenaline on you!’ If wakin’ up in another universe as a vampire doesn’t push you over that line, I don’t know what will.”

“You’ve mentioned that twice now. You seem very certain of your circumstances.”

I stared pointedly at the partially exsanguinated Zsasz.

“You don’t say,” I remarked dryly. I could see him prepping to say something else, but I cut him off. “Look, you’ve got a psychopath to put in a padded room; if you wanna talk after that, I’m back and to the left.”

I didn’t wait for him to say anything, I just turned and started walking back the way I’d come when this whole thing started. Brushing him off was _probably_ rude and _very definitely_ a bad idea considering it was, you know, _Batman_, but gimme a break. I was either actually in some version of the DC universe, or I was hallucinating that I was. Either one was good evidence for me having gone off the rails on some kind of crazy train; I couldn’t just keep staring at proof of that, I needed time to process it all.

My casket – it might as well be mine, some cosmic something-or-other had dropped me into this world in it – was, by contrast, a grounded and earthy thing. You knew where you stood with caskets: not at all, because you were dead. And if you were _un_dead, you apparently used them to sleep off the crazy. 

I crawled into it. Either Batman – actual BATMAN – would drop by to continue our conversation and prove that this was my life now, or I’d fall asleep here and wake back up in a world that made marginally more sense than this one.

I didn’t have to deal with either one just now, though.

I pulled the lid down and close my eyes.

**Gotham City**

**Nighttime, Later**

Sometime later, there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my coffin door.

I didn’t wake up because I hadn’t been able to sleep. Vampires are nocturnal after all. Instead, I’d let my thoughts drift onto what my course of action should be, which was a great way to kill…however long it had been.

I raised the lid and found Batman staring down at me.

“You said we’d talk,” he said.

“So, I did,” I replied. I pulled the tails of my coat out from under me and sat up in the casket. “Ask whatever ya want, and I’ll answer as best I can.”

“You seem convinced that this a different universe from your own.” Batman said without missing a beat, because of course he already had a prepared list of questions.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. Someone could’ve scrambled my brain like an egg, I suppose, but I can’t think of any good reason for makin’ me believe I come from a world where none o’ this exists,” I said, gesturing expansively to indicate the general Gotham City area.

“There aren’t any meta-humans where you think you come from?” Batman asked.

“None o’ those, no vampires, aliens, gods, or anything else you care to name, either,” I took a second to reconsider that statement. “I mean, we might have a species wide connection to The Bleed, I guess, but we ain’t got a way to test for that.”

I’d laid some bait with that last comment, I knew. Bait that, if Batman took it, would spiral into questions about The Bleed, the boundary that divides one universe from another, and my world’s relation to it.

That was the plan.

I’d decided that telling Batman whatever he wanted to know and submitting myself to any verification method he chose was the right way to go. I’d thought, _very_ briefly, about keeping it all to myself and trying to earn the Caped Crusader’s trust some other way, but the problems with that were clear from the very start. Number A, I’d have to tell him at some point _anyway_ if I wanted to keep that trust; Letter 2, trying to keep it entirely under wraps was just _asking_ for it to come out at the exact worst time. Murphy’s a motherfucker like that.

“You claim that your world doesn’t have any of the more…exotic residents that this one has. Can I take that to mean that you’re also lacking in the technology that tends to come with them?” Batman asked.

I nodded.

“We’re still trying to figure out quantum computers, as far as I know.”

“And yet,” he said, eyes narrowing. He’d taken the bait. “You’ve shown an awareness of an extradimensional space that in this world is almost entirely theoretical, and at the very least untestable in yours. You see the contradiction.”

I took a deep, fortifying breath.

Treat it like Band-Aid; rip it off quick and get it over with.

“Mine is a world, and a mirror of worlds,” I said, leaning on the words of Sir Terry for explanation. “I’m not sure o’ the exact mechanics, but visions of other dimensions cross The Bleed and make themselves at home in the noggins o’ the creative types back home, who translate those visions to the printed word and…well, pick a visual medium, they’ve done it, probably.” I was making shit up from whole cloth, but I didn’t count it as dishonesty because, to my mind, it was just as likely as anything else. “Because of that, we know a lot…Bruce.” I tried very hard not to look like I was bracing myself. Dropping his name was a test, and his reaction to it would tell me what kind of Batman I was dealing with. 

A narrowing of his eyes was, thankfully, the only response I got. Okay, so, dealing with a more composed Batman. Good to know I’m exactly nowhere Frank Miller inspired. 

“What else do you know?” He asked, his growly voice even growlier than it had been.

“Names, for one. Clark Kent, Diana Prince, Barry Allen…” A further narrowing of his eyes gave a pretty good indication that pulling the emergency stop on this train of conversation would be a pretty good idea. “Amongst other things,” I concluded.

“Like _what_?” He asked.

I very carefully did _not_ mention anyone who might be Robin. That way lay a righteous ass-whoopin’.

“Alright, look,” I said, putting my hands up placatingly. “Like I said, I know a lot of things. One of ‘em is that Batman is a kickass detective and world class suspicious bastard who survives by knowing more than anyone else in the room and keeping his cards close to the vest. Someone like that isn’t gonna react all that well to being caught flat-footed. Everything I say from now on, you’re gonna take with a Dead Sea’s worth o’ salt.”

“Your point?” he asked without denial.

“My point is that we both know that don’t have to be the case. You’ve got a million ways to know if I’m telling the truth. Use one,” I said.

Batman raised one eyebrow, questioning.

“You seem rather adamant about it,” He noted.

“I’m tryin’ to earn your _trust_ here, Bats. You could torpedo any chance I have of makin’ it in this world; I figure playin’ ball is the best way to keep you from doin’ that.” I said.

“You have a high estimation of how much weight my opinion carries.” He said.

“You keep step with modern day gods; you’ve earned it,” I said.

He paused for a second at that; I doubt he’d been expecting praise from what, in his mind, looked like a potential enemy.

“Any method whatsoever?” he eventually asked.

“Whatever you wanna throw at me,” I confirmed

“Even Wonder Woman’s Golden Lasso?”

An icy ball settled into the pit of my stomach. I’d decided that I’d do whatever he asked for verification…but I _hadn’t_ expected him to try the Lasso as a first resort. Of _course,_ I couldn’t get one of the Batmen who’d rather tear off their own arm than ask for help, _noooooooo_. I had to get one of the team players.

God damn it.

Here’s the thing: in all of comic books, there was one object that scared me more than any supervillain, and it was The Golden Lasso of Truth.

But Jesse, you’ll say, The Golden Lasso is wielded by Wonder Woman, one of the coolest, most righteous superheroes there is!

As it happens, you’re right and I agree with you, hypothetical other party in this conversation. But the thing of it was that the Lasso would lay me bare. Every dark thought I’d had in my lowest moments, every single thing I never wanted to admit about myself, the truth of them would be forced from my very own lips under its influence, all it would take would be the right question.

But the fact of the matter was, I realized with dread, that I was stuck in this universe and very likely wasn’t going home for the foreseeable future. Things would go a lot smoother if had people like Batman…well, maybe not in my corner just yet, but at least on the same side of the ring as me.

Suck it up, buttercup.

“Even that,” I said, cursing my damn fool voice for cracking in the middle.

Batman grunted affirmatively.

“I’ll make the call.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are again! I tried to convey Batman in this chapter, but I don't really know how I did. Hopefully his actions come across as believable, as well as the SIs description of him. Was this chapter well paced? Did everything make sense? Was I able to keep the voices distinct and consistent? Let me know in the comments!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it, and I'll see you in the next chapter!


	3. Phlebotomy (Part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which bondage keeps a man honest.

Washington D.C.

Night Time

So, if you ever find yourself in a DC universe and discover that they have a Hall of Justice? Visit it if you can. It’s nowhere near as hokey in real life as it looks in the shows. For one thing, it’s in Washington DC, which means it rubs shoulders with God only knows how many historical landmarks. It adds some metaphysical weight, lemme tell ya. For another: it’s _huge_. In most adaptations, the Hall is only shown in far off establishing shots to let you know that the next little bit happens inside, and you lose some of the scale as a consequence. Trust me; it’s big, so big that I wonder what actual Washington DC fixtures take its place in real li… back home.

All of these thoughts ran through my head as Batman – BATMAN – lead me down the walkway toward the Hall’s entrance.

The whole situation would’ve been, as you might imagine, a nerd’s wildest dream come true in any other circumstance. Full disclosure, the only reason I wasn’t freaking right the fuck out was because I got the feeling that my guide/warden was wary of me as it was, and I didn’t wanna make that worse by not treating the situation like what it actually was: the prelude to an inquisition that would determine my fate.

Because of that, the hour travel between Gotham City and Washington DC – facilitated by the Bat-Plane, which was a _sexy_ piece of aeronautic technology – had been spent in silence and with me and Batman on what I imagine were two opposing trains of thought: Batman was most likely thinking of questions to ask me while the Lasso would prevent me from lying, and I was making sure that I wouldn’t shoot myself in the foot with something I had to be honest about.

Mercifully, I’d been a pretty vanilla guy before I’d started taking my Bloody Maries extra bloody – don’t know why I made that analogy, Bloody Maries are straight nasty – so I reckoned I was more or less in the clear. Sure, there were some embarrassing things in my life, some thoughts I wasn’t proud about having, but nothing that marked me as a super-villain in waiting.

I hoped.

The lights were on inside the Hall of Justice – which didn’t surprise me much; villainy never sleeps, why should heroism? – revealing that the interior was more or less like the entrance area to a giant museum. It even had a big ol’ display to let visitors know exactly what this building was all about: seven bronze statues depicting what I assumed to be the first iteration of this universe’s Justice League, which consisted of the Holy Trinity – Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman – as well as Aquaman, Martian Manhunter, The Flash, and Green Lantern Hal Jordan.

Okay, so, not dealing with the DCAU, either. I filed that information away in case it was useful.

Underneath the statue display, there was a set of sci-fi style metal double doors that read ‘Authorized Personnel Only’ in yellow blocky letters. They slid open automatically.

On the other side stood William A. Zeppeli.

Okay, not really, but he fit the bill pretty well. He was dressed like a stereotypical stage magician, black tux, top hat, the whole bit. If he’d been wearing white and his top hat had been monochrome diamond patterned, he would’ve been a dead ringer.

“Batman,” The man greeted.

“Zatara,” Batman replied, walking past him.

Zatara, I mused as he fell into step beside Batman. That was Zatana’s last name, wasn’t it? Which made this man Giovani Zatara, her father and a man who, like his daughter after him, cheated at stage magic by using actual magic. Did this mean that he was the League’s go-to mystic rather than Doctor Fate? Hell, did Doctor Fate even exist here? Questions for later.

I followed the two men down a long, straight hallway, passing several doors, until we came to another set of double doors at the end. Like the ones before, they opened automatically.

The room beyond was, honestly, a library I would’ve killed to have for myself. It was rectangular in shape, with a high ceiling and a wide-open floor with comfy looking armchairs scattered about, a table with four swivel chairs, and a massive computer that took up a goodly portion of the back wall. The perimeter was, of course, covered in books. Books filled with what, I didn’t know. But I could’ve spent a few hours in there without trying too hard, I think.

All of that paled in comparison to the room’s sole occupant.

Look, I don’t have to tell you that Wonder Woman is beautiful. Birds fly, fish swim, Diana of Themyscira is classically beautiful on a scale that sails right past even the high bar set by the general superheroine population. It’s just a fact.

What nothing had prepared me for, however, was her _presence._

Maybe it was just an aspect of my new and still largely unexplored nature, but Wonder Woman seemed to radiate with some sort of nameless power that wasn’t unlike the sky: It didn’t press down on me, but it was so vast and obvious that I’d have to be totally blind to miss it. And it was only accented by a powerful build, sure stance, and assessing blue eyes that catalogued everything about me as my guides and I entered the room.

Here was a woman meant to fight, to lead. Here was a woman who, not for nothing, set the standard for all superheroines.

I gulped nervously.

“Batman, Zatara; it’s good to see you both,” she said warmly. They greeted her in turn.

Then all three of them turned their attention to me.

There was nothing even slightly hostile in their manner, but the overall effect of them being who they were made up for that in spades. It was almost like I was standing in one of those spy movie laser grids: if I maneuvered just right, I’d be fine and get away scott-free. If I didn’t…well, Wonder Woman had strength enough to break me over her knee like a twig and a lot of experience with it, Zatara could probably imprison me in some godawful dimension, and Batman had spent years learning the best ways to disassemble the human body without killing it. I’d stand no chance. 

“And you must be our newest oddity,” Wonder Woman said, breaking me from my pessimistic thoughts.

Don’topenwithajokedon’topenwithajokedon’topenwithajokedon’topenwithajokeDEAR GOD DON’T OPEN WITH A JOKE!

“I sure hope so, otherwise the real one's gonna be real pissed when he finds me in his clothes.”

Damn it!

To my relief, she actually chuckled a bit.

"I’m Diana, though from what I’ve heard, you know that already.” She said, walking forward and offering me her hand.

I almost shook it but hesitated at the last second. A good rule of thumb for vampires was that holy artifacts were a big no-no. I didn’t know where ‘given life by the gods’ fell on that scale, but it probably wouldn’t end well for me.

Still, it would’ve been rude to snub her entirely, so I tucked my hand into one of my duster’s sleeves and half-ass shook her hand.

“Sorry, still not sure what all will or won't hurt me,” I said at her raised brow, offering her a smile that I hoped came across as apologetic. “Just being careful.”

“Understandable.” She said, nodding. She regarded me seriously. “Before we go any further, I just wanted to make sure you were quite aware of what you were getting yourself into.”

“You’ll tie me up and I won’t be able to tell a lie,” I said.

“That is…broadly true, yes. But it goes a bit further than that. You won’t be able to lie to us at all, even by omission. The Lasso will compel you to answer any question posed to you. Knowing that, do you still wish to do this?” she asked.

“Diana…” Batman began.

“NO, Batman!” Wonder Woman said firmly. Batman’s mouth clamped shut fast enough that I heard his teeth click together. “As far as we know, the only life that hangs in the balance is his; he will have the facts he needs to make an informed decision, or I won’t do it.”

Batman said nothing; he just stood there looking chastised.

Zatara looked like he was trying to hide a smile and failing miserably.

I didn’t even attempt to hide the fact that I was staring at Wonder Woman in awe. It was a bit disturbing that she’d read me like a picture book and pinned down my mental state in all of thirty seconds, but it was mostly uplifting to know I had her at least partially on my side.

She turned and stared me down with those piercing blue eyes of hers.

“I ask again, do you still want to do this?” she repeated.

There was nothing in her gaze, but not in a ‘thousand-yard stare’ sort of way. It was more like she was schooling her emotions completely so as not to sway me one way or the other. She’d accept my decision, whatever it was, with magnanimity.

I won’t lie to you; I had to think real hard about whether or not I wanted to be bound. I’d known its effects before Wonder Woman had told me about them but standing there with the thing right in front of me, confronting the possibility of its use… it was like a roller coaster. They looked like a good idea from the ground, but up close they revealed their true intimidating colors.

Even still, I steeled my resolve.

Flashpoint. The Crises. Blackest Night. Doomsday. **_Darkseid_**. Every one of them, and more besides, could potentially happen in this world, and each promised a body count higher than any war you care to name. Every death that could have been avoided if the Justice League had been more prepared would be on me, and those would be real people dying, not just inked drawings made to look like it.

Besides, I happened to be on this world now. It had to stick around for me to have some fun on it. 

For those reasons, if nothing else, I had to face the Lasso and make these people believe me.

Suck it up, buttercup.

“I do,” I said firmly.

All at once, there was a noticeable change in the atmosphere of the room. A weight that I hadn’t been aware of was nonetheless lifted, like the world was letting out a massive sigh of relief.

Weird.

“Very well,” Wonder Woman said seriously. “Take a seat please.” She motioned to one of the armchairs.

I did so, getting myself comfortable enough to sit for a while.

“So, how’s this gonna work?” I asked. “Ya gonna tie it around my neck or…?”

“Just an arm will suffice,” Wonder Woman said as she removed the Golden Lasso from her hip.

I offered her my right arm.

How to describe the experience of the Lasso? Well, first off, it’s weird as all hell seeing glowing golden rope wind around your arm of its own accord like a constrictor snake. After that…it was sort of like…okay, imagine that you studied for a test really hard for a really long time. Take that certainty in your knowledge but remove any idea of what the test was about or even what you studied, and you’ll have some idea of what it felt like for me just then.

Of course, because the Lasso was a cool shiny thing and I’m a fuckin’ idiot, the inevitable happened.

I grabbed a bit of the rope.

My regret was instant.

“FUCK!” I shouted as I let go of the Lasso and shook my stinging hand; inspection revealed an angry red, rope shaped burn scar stretching its way across my right palm. “Holy stuff ain’t in my wheel-house after all, noted,” I said to myself as the assemblage of heroes looked at me with varying shades of concern.

“Are you well?” Wonder Woman asked.

Don’tmakeabondagejokedon’tmakeabondagejokedon’tmakeabondagejokeDEAR GOD DON’T MAKE A BONDAGE JOKE!

“No, my hand’s burnin’ like hellfire and I’m trying very hard not to say that my safe word is pumpernickel.”

DAMN it!

“We have burn ointment around here somewhere, if you need it,” She said, ignoring my raunchy comment entirely.

Thanks for not holding it against me Wondy, you’re a boss.

“I don’t think it’d work,” I said. “Bram Stoker tells us that holy burns only go away if you get rid of the vampire curse somehow. Bit out o’ luck, seein’ as I don’t know how I came by it in the first place.”

“If you’re sure,” Wonder Woman said. “We’ll proceed. Full disclosure, Batman will be recording this entire session.”

Obligingly, Batman pulled a small voice recorder from his belt and pressed a button on the side.

“The following is an account of the debriefing of…” He paused. “State you’re name for the recording,” He said.

“James Michael Walker,” I said. “Jesse, if you’re feelin’ cordial,” I added as an afterthought.

“Why Jesse?” Asked Zatara, speaking up for the first time since he’d greeted Batman at the door.

“Because I ain’t none too fond of Jim or Jamie, and Walker, Texas Ranger got old real quick,” I said.

“Hm.” He hummed in what, to me, sounded like a vaguely agreeable tone.

“Subject: James Walker,” Batman continued as if I hadn’t said anything. “Under the influence of the Lasso of Truth, carried out and witnessed by senior Justice League members Wonder Woman, Batman, and Zatara. The purpose of this session is to determine the veracity of subject’s claim to be from an alternate dimension in light of the substantiation of two prior claims: 1) that he is a vampire or possesses traits of the same and 2) that he has access to highly sensitive information about the Justice League. As protocol dictates, we will begin by asking three control questions to ensure that the Lasso is functioning properly.” He said, clinical as a scientist.

“Do you have a wallet?” Wonder Woman asked.

“Yes,” I reached into my left back pocket and produced a simple leather trifold wallet, which I then offered to Wonder Woman.

“Let the record show that Subject has produced a wallet that will form the basis of our control questions.” Batman said.

“Describe this wallet’s contents, please,” Said Wonder Woman.

“Louisiana Driver’s license, debit card, two hundred dollars cash – in twenties – a silver round with a buffalo on one side and a Native American on the other, and four black eyes peas wrapped in tape.” I listed off without hesitation.

Wonder Woman handed my wallet off to Batman, who then inspected its slots and pockets until he found every item I’d named.

“The listed items are present,” He noted. 

“I’m sorry, can we just pause real quick?” I asked, forestalling his continuation of proceedings.

“What’s wrong?” Wonder Woman asked.

“Nothin’ _wrong_ per se,” I said. “It’s just, you know, there are literal, _provable_ gods runnin’ around, and the Lasso was made by one of ‘em. Why in the hell are we doin’ this like a lie detector test?”

“Precaution,” Wonder Woman said, though her tone told me that she was probably trying to fit the word ‘precaution’ into a space more properly fitted for ‘paranoia’. “Some,” Batman, I translated mentally. “Still refuse to take its power on faith, despite a spotless record.”

“Please continue with the remaining two questions,” Batman prompted sternly.

“Can’t it just be one?” I asked. “You’ve got my driver’s license; you can verify the name I gave you.”

He said nothing in response, just looked to the side of my wallet where I keep my license.

“Subject’s name and the name on the on the license match. Only one more control is needed.”

“How old are you?” Wonder Woman asked.

“I was born January 12th in 1996, so…twenty-three.” I said.

Batman’s eyes narrowed.

“The birthdate is the same, but your math is off,” He said, the vaguest notion of accusation in his voice.

My brow wrinkled in confusion.

“What year is it?” I asked.

“2010,” Wonder Woman answered.

“Huh, that’s weird,” I said. “Nine-year time difference. Huh,” I mused. I looked at my interrogators wryly. “You could _try_ passin’ me off as a fourteen-year-old, I guess, but I doubt anyone’d buy it. Also, if you try to keep me from drinkin’ beer, I _will_ try to fight you.” 

The assembled heroes looked me up and down. I was 5’10” and broad-shouldered, my ponytailed hair was already going gray in accordance with family tradition, and I had a beard moustache combo going on – I was just generally hairy as a motherfucker, but I was fully dressed so that wasn’t immediately obvious. If I passed for fourteen, I had serious concerns about this universe.

“Given the mostly untested nature of interdimensional travel, differences in the flow of time aren’t out of the question,” Batman conceded, though he didn’t sound happy about it.

“Okay good,” I said, heaving an overblown sigh of relief. “I was gonna offer to show you my chest hair, but no one wants to see that, let’s be real here,” I said.

Wonder Woman smiled, Batman narrowed his eyes even further, and Zatara coughed suspiciously.

“Are you satisfied that the Lasso is indeed working as it should?” Wonder Woman asked Batman. His eyes unnarrowed slightly.

“Yes, proceed with the debriefing,” He said.

“Are you from another dimension?” Wonder Woman asked bluntly.

Getting the big question out of the way first, huh? I could dig it.

“As far as I’m aware,” I said.

Everyone in the room looked a mite unsettled at that. Couldn’t blame ‘em, really. I couldn’t lie, and I’d just confirmed that I was indeed an interdimensional traveler. I was probably the first, unless Mr. Myxzptlk was a thing here, which I really hoped wasn’t the case. Guy was annoying as shit.

“How did you come to be in this one?” Wonder Woman asked, recovering admirably.

“I don’t really know,” I said. “Last thing I remember is passin’ out from downin’ a full fifth of cinnamon whiskey, not a habit,” I rushed to add as all three heroes’ expressions morphed into some variation of disapproval. “Just some college shenanigans that got out of hand. Anyway, I passed out and woke up in a casket in Gotham City with what I thought was a hangover, munched on a serial killer, met Batman, and rattled him enough to call this meeting,” I summarized.

Wonder Woman’s expression didn’t change, but Zatara tilted his head curiously.

“How did you manage that?” he asked.

I looked him in the eye and summoned up everything I knew about him.

“Giovanni Zatara, husband of Sindella and father of Zatana; magician in the modern and classical senses; descendant of Leonardo Da Vinci.” I rattled off, Zatara’s eyes widening with every word that passed between my lips. “That’s how,” I said. I looked back at Wonder Woman “I could do pretty much the same thing for everyone in this room, and a lot more beyond that. Gimme a list, I could tell ya who I know and who I don’t,” I said.

“Explain for the recording how you came by this knowledge,” Batman commanded.

“I ain’t got any actual idea,” I said. “I pulled the explanation I gave you in Gotham entirely outta my ass, but it sounds plausible, so I’m going with it: the creative minds of my world are somehow pickin’ up psychic impressions of other universes and translatin’ what they see into books, games, movies, anything.”

“What kind of information have you garnered from these media?” Batman asked.

“A lot,” I said gravely, the myriad threats I had knowledge of springing to mind. “People, places, things that might happen in the future, and so on.”

“What do you intend to do with it?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

Batman walked past Wonder Woman to loom over me.

“You have to understand the uniqueness of your situation. You’re privy to some of the most personal information of some very high-profile individuals. There are those who’d do anything to get their hands on it.” he said.

Translation: we’d be fucked right up main street if you decided to give this information to supervillains. Make me believe that I don’t need to worry about that.

“True,” I agreed. “But they’re a bunch o’ thunderin’ twatwaffles, so no worries.” I said plainly, though I did grin at the heroes’ reaction to my choice of invective.

“Elaborate,” Batman ordered.

“Well, okay, let’s do a headcount shall we?” I held up my left arm with my hand curled into a fist. “Ra’s Al Ghul,” I raised my thumb. “The eco-terrorist to end all eco-terrorists and leader of an honest-to-God ninja-assassin group. Vandal Savage,” I raised my index finger. “Name an evil bastard in history, chances are good that he _was_ them or involved somehow. Lex Luthor,” I raised my middle finger. “The shadiest one-percenter on the face of the planet with a creepy Superman obsession.” I leveled Batman with a ‘see what I mean?’ look. “Not a whole lot of reasons to be on the side o’ their like.” 

“Why pick a side at all? You _could_ just stay out of it all together,” Wonder Woman pointed out. “We’d need to run a few tests to find out what your specific needs are, of course, but the Justice League has protocols in place to help meta-humans who’d rather live their lives as normally as possible.”

“It wouldn’t be right,” I said simply but firmly.

“You seem sure of that,” Said Zatara.

“Eh, learned it from y’all,” I replied, gesturing to all three of them. “You’re fictional characters on my world, but what you represent…it resonates with a lot of people, me included.”

“And what is it you think we represent?” asked Batman.

“Lot’s o’ things: truth, justice, all that jazz.” I said blithely. “The one that always got me, though,” I went on, my tone becoming utterly sincere. “Was your stubborn refusal to take things as they were. You looked at the world, found it fucked, and decided to put it right by helpin’ instead o’ hurtin’. I always thought that was pretty cool.” I mumbled that last part sheepishly; how could I not? It was hokey and idealistic; I’d be embarrassed to admit it to my closest friends, never mind the heroes who’d inspired it.

Because they weren’t dicks, no one said anything about it. Thank God. The embarrassment might have put me over the line from undead to actually dead.

My answer had apparently been satisfactory, because Batman backed away from me and stood in formation with Wonder Woman and Zatara again.

“Are we done?” Wonder Woman asked him.

“Yes, let him go,” He said.

The Lasso unwound itself from around my arm and coiled itself back into shape, and my head felt normal again.

What followed was a whole lot shared glances. Probably they were doing that thing where people who’ve worked together for a long time have entire conversations without saying a thing; it was weird to watch all the same.

“We’re inclined to let you pursue heroism, if that’s what you really want,” Wonder Woman said a few minutes later. “Very few of us were actually sanctioned when we started out, so we’d be hypocrites to try to stop you.”

“However,” Batman chimed in. “We do have an offer.”

“Hit me, Boss,” I said.

“You have information that could potentially be very useful to us, but you were also very clearly a civilian in your world,” he said.

“Guilty as charged,” I admitted freely.

“The Justice League has a battery of tests that we offer to any metahuman who comes to us for help. In addition to that, we’re prepared to offer you equipment and combat training in exchange for your providing us with detailed reports of any potential threats you have knowledge of,” he said.

“Shoot, that’s it?” I asked. “I’ll take it!” I said enthusiastically.

“That didn’t take long,” Zatara noted wryly.

“Mr. Zatara, y’all could’ve told me to screw off and I still would’ve told y’all what I know out o’ self-preservation, if nothin’ else.”

“What do you mean?” asked Wonder Woman.

“You’re Highness,” I said. “If even half the stuff I know about happens, then a whole lot o’ people are screwed regardless. Tellin’ y’all everything, sponsorship or not, is a good way to lower that number, and thus the probability of me being one of ‘em. Everything after that is just gravy.” Good, pragmatism reasserted, and face saved after my earlier sappiness. Fuck yeah.

“It doesn’t take you long to change your tune, does it?” Zatara said dryly.

Don’tmakeajokedon’tmakeajokedon’tmakeajokedon’tmakeajokedon’tmakeajokeDEAR GOD DON’T MAKE A JOKE!

“Hey, if you wanted some more unbridled honesty, you should’ve waited for me to say pumpernickel.”

DAMN IT!

I winced at my own bawdiness, but then I plastered an eager grin on my face and looked at the collective before me.

“So, when do we start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's chapter three done! Hope you all enjoyed it and, as always, feel free to point out any mistakes or give me your honest thoughts on the story so far!  
The next chapter will be an interlude from the point of view of Batman that elaborates on the impressions that he, Wonder Woman, Zatara, and a surprise fourth character have formed about Jesse.  
Anyway! untill then, have a lovely day and I'll see you in the next chapter!  
Edit: Oh, past me! What a fool you were! Yeah, so, the next chapter was GONNA be the above, but its fighting me like it's trying to reclaim its title as Toughest Guy in Letterkenny, so I'm scrapping the idea for now. Maybe such a thing will pop up later, maybe it won't. In any case, all the things that would've been covered in the interlude will be covered later on anyway, so y'all aren't losing out on anything.


End file.
